In characteristically bizarre costume - dressed as a dayglo butterfly with her face and head cloaked in a near-superhero style mask - Bjork returns to Manchester International Festival with another visual feast.

It's not a perfect setting. Castlefield Bowl is rammed, with the crowd forced to stand as far back as the grassy knoll at the far reaches of the arena with virtually no view. But at least the weather is with us.

Backed by 16 musicians - a British orchestra called The Heritage and a percussionist - and a mixing desk genius, plus a video screen stuffed with vivid graphics, Bjork flutters across the stage (butterfly like, naturally) in a way only an artist as original as Bjork could.

Her ultraviolet costume is, of course, a piece of theatrical symbolism. The album she's here to perform, Vulnicura, is her most heartbroken and personal yet - written about the break up with her long term partner. But she's keen to move the story on, too; to evolve from this dark chapter into a brand new one.

In spectacular voice, she focuses on Vulnicura - it's the album's first outing in Europe, and one with little respect for pop song structure or the uptempo demands of a gig - chirruping adorable thank yous between songs.

Stonemilker and Lionsong are solid party starters, while Black Lake is poured out in a cascade of emotional strings that swell under Bjork's delicious rolling-Rs, and holds its nerve through pregnant pauses when the crowd of 5,000 or more fall silent.

A bizarre video backdrop delivers the visual narrative - of heart surgery and microscopic shots of arachnids and murderous wasps and 1980s style video game graphics of Bjork falling down cave potholes - but it's Notget that really fires the show into next week, its explosive rhythms matched by rocket fireworks exploding from the roof of the stage, before melting into Hunter, its self critical refrain "how Scandinavian of me" the first sing along moment.

Majestically, Bachelorette rides a wondrous waves of violins, oldie Possibly Maybe stripping it back to Bjork and the Swiss hang, her virtually a capella voice cracking as she reaches for those distinctive yelps.

"Say hurrah for Graham Massey," Bjork shouts, welcoming her old buddy from Madchester dance trio 808 State to the show - as a spectator, not a performer - before the electro percussion of Army Of Me slices apart the atmosphere.

She speaks infrequently, but when she does you want to do her bidding. "Can you dance?" Bjork enquires, sweetly, before firing out Mouth Mantra - the kind of expressive, house tune no Englishman could truly dance to. A few try, nobly.

There's only time for a one track encore but she picks it masterfully - Hyperballad, an early single that marked Bjork out as the poetic, ambient genius she is. On stage, she skips and pounces around plumes of fire, while machine gun fireworks pump out into the night sky.